Page 33 of Betting on the Best Friend
Another Pixie Luna song title.
The corners of Ruby’s mouth quiver like she’s trying not to laugh. I’m glad. That tattoo has the redness I recognize from getting my own. It’s real. Unless Mike has the most amazing sense of humor—facts not in evidence—and he got it as part of a joke on Ruby, his obsession with Sami is real. Ruby is in no danger from him, but I’ll put both Sami and Josh on alert if Ruby doesn’t beat me to it.
“We doing this again or what?” Mike asks.
“Oh, we only paid for one game,” Sydney says. “There’s a reservation after us, so we can’t book another one.”
“There’s a bunch of empty lanes,” Mike says, showing off some counting skills. “They can send people there.”
“Those are probably going to fill in the next few minutes,” I say despite the fact that the line at the service desk is short. “It’s for the best.” I hold up both my hands to flash a five five, indicating my losing score.
“You’re right, we might as well call it,” Ruby says. “Don’t you have to work, Mike?”
He shrugs. “I have almost two hours before I gotta be there.”
Ruby looks stumped for a second, but Sydney gives a few short coughs.
“Sorry,” she says, coughing again. “I’m allergic to all kinds of stuff, and something is triggering me. I probably need to get out of here and take my meds at home.”
“Bummer,” Mike says. “I have weed gummies that’ll help.”
“Highly allergic to weeds,” Sydney says. “Sorry to end the night early.”
“It’s okay.” Ruby’s voice is cheerful. “I’m more tired than I thought I would be, anyway.”
“You don’t have to go,” Mike says.
All three of us look at him in surprise.
“We can sit in my truck and listen to some Pixie Luna,” he continues, looking at Ruby.
Ruby reaches for Sydney’s hand. “Sorry, but I’m her ride, so I better get her home to her allergy pills. Nice meeting you, Mike.”
I start gathering up all our regular shoes, and Sydney coughs a few more times. “Thanks, Ruby.”
At the rental desk, we hop and tug at our bowling shoes, dropping them in a jumble and fleeing for the exit in our socks.
“Sorry, y’all,” Ruby says, peeling off toward her parking spot. “Come over and I’ll make it up to you with ice cream or something.”
“No, thanks,” I tell her. “Sydney and I are still going to hang out.” We’re not. It’s all part of the make-Ruby-pay-attention plan.
“Fresh air cleared my allergies just like that.” Sydney snaps her fingers.
Ruby opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, stops, then says, “Right, okay. Thanks for the assist.”
“No problem,” Sydney says.
“We’ll watch you leave to make sure Sami’s number one fan doesn’t follow you,” I add.
Ruby gets in her car and reverses, barely missing the bumper on her right. Her brake lights flash as her hand pops through the window to give us a wave, then she peels out toward the exit.
“Shereallywants to get away from Mike,” Sydney says.
“Unfortunately, that’s just how she drives.”
“Wow.”
We watch Ruby lurch into traffic without giving the oncoming car nearly enough room, but once again, she pulls it off without incident.
